


A Frank and Easy Way

by Verecunda



Category: Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
Genre: Canon Era, Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 07:50:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15456666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verecunda/pseuds/Verecunda
Summary: Herbert Pocket prepares to receive a fellow lodger, and recalls a certain prowling boy.





	A Frank and Easy Way

**Author's Note:**

> I just love Herbert Pocket a lot. ♥︎
> 
> I've snaffled some of the original dialogue from the book. You'll know it when you see it!

Herbert first learned of the business at the same time as his father. It was a Sunday evening, and he happened that night to be visiting his parents at Hammersmith. Dinner had gone off with the habitual strife, which had seen, amongst other things, the perplexing disappearance of the wine, which mystery seemed to have some obscure connexion to the cook’s having sent up the fowl basted in jam, and having put the ham out for the cat. Added to this was a general anxiety over the baby, who had been left to amuse itself with the silver, and who, perhaps contemplating a future vocation at the fair, had attempted the feat of swallowing the teaspoons in succession. After several valiant, but ultimately forlorn, efforts to restore harmony, Mr. Pocket observed his usual ceremony of trying to lift himself up by the hair, then retreated to the parlour, where Herbert went in search of him. He found him sitting in one of the armchairs, with his hair rumpled, in an attitude of hollow desolation. Herbert sat down opposite him, but before he could make much progress in relieving his father’s anxieties, there came a soft knock at the door, and Sophia came in.

“Begging your pardon, sir, but there’s a Mr. Jaggers in the hall, a-waiting to speak with you.”

“O-oh!” cried Mr. Pocket, roused at once. “Yes. Of course. Pray do show him in.”

Sophia disappeared, and reappeared directly with their visitor. Herbert watched his entrance with interest, and not a little trepidation. He had only the haziest recollection of seeing Mr. Jaggers, many years before, when he had visited Satis House with his aunts, but he knew his name well enough, having read it in the newspapers, and of course, from his being solicitor to Miss Havisham and the confirmed scourge of Aunt Sarah, Aunt Camilla, Aunt Georgiana, and all the rest.

Now, as that gentleman came into the parlour, Herbert saw him to be a figure built to much the same lines as his reputation: dark, substantial, forbidding. Upon entering the room, he cast a wide look around, before suddenly pinioning Herbert’s father to his chair with a look from his dark, deep-set eyes.

“Good evening, Mr. Pocket.”

“Mr. Jaggers!” cried Mr. Pocket. “Good evening. I’m very glad to see you again.”

“Ah,” was Mr. Jaggers’ sole response to this pleasantry. He now fixed Herbert in his sights, observing him closely from beneath his heavy dark brows in such a way that Herbert was convinced that he had, at a glance, gained full and comprehensive knowledge of every small misdemeanour he had ever committed in his life. “And whom have we here?”

“My eldest son — Herbert.”

“Ah. Of course.” Mr. Jaggers uttered these words as if the connexion was obvious, and not to the advantage of either of them. “How do you do, Mr. Herbert Pocket?”

“How do you do, sir?” returned Herbert; but the words were scarcely out of his mouth before Mr. Jaggers dismissed him, and took up his father again:

“Mr. Pocket, I am this evening returned from Rochester, where I have been engaged upon a certain matter of business.”

“Oh?” At the allusion to Rochester, Herbert saw his father’s attention perceptibly heighten. 

“Yes. I have lately been appointed guardian to a young fellow in that region. He has, until now, been apprenticed to a blacksmith, the husband of his sister, but he has been chosen to succeed to a certain property. It is the express wish of this young man’s benefactor — the present possessor of that property — that he be released from his indentures and moved into a sphere that better becomes his new station. I have, as I said, been empowered by that same benefactor to act as guardian to Mr. Pip — that being the young fellow’s name — until he comes into his majority, and as the agent in all transactions between his benefactor and him.”

Herbert darted a look at his father. He was listening politely, attentive to the lawyer’s words, but Herbert fancied he saw the same thought dawning in his mind as the one now dawning in his own. Mr. Jaggers showed not the least consciousness of this, however, and carried on:

“As Mr. Pip has, heretofore, grown up in a country place, among country people, it is the desire of his patron that he should be properly educated, so that he might be the better prepared to take his place as a gentleman, and hold his own in his new circumstances. To that end, it is in my instructions to engage a suitable tutor. I mentioned your name to Mr. Pip, and having heard of you before, he has professed himself willing to try you. Would you, Mr. Pocket,” he asked, stabbing a large forefinger in his direction, “be willing to accept him as your pupil?”

At first Mr. Pocket’s expression was one of surprise, for the name Mr. Pip was quite unknown to them; but it quickly changed into a helpless smile. “Well! I’m sure I’m always perfectly happy to accept any pupil here, Mr Jaggers.”

“Never mind any pupil, Mr. Pocket,” retorted Mr. Jaggers, throwing out his finger again. “I don’t ask you about any pupil. I only ask about _this_ pupil. Are you willing to accept _this_ pupil? That is all I wish to know. Come!” This said, he folded his hands beneath his coat-tails, drew himself up on his boots, and shut his eyes as he awaited an answer.

Mr. Pocket had quailed somewhat beneath that imperious forefinger, but now he rallied and replied, with admirable composure, “I should be very glad to accept Mr. Pip as my pupil.”

“That’s more like it,” said Mr. Jaggers, appeased. “It has already been agreed that Mr. Pip will come up to London this coming Saturday. Will you be ready to receive him here on the Monday following, to begin his education?”

“Certainly,” replied Mr. Pocket at once, with an affirmative nod, before putting in, quickly, “If I might ask one question, Mr. Jaggers…”

“What question?”

“What is the nature of Mr. Pip’s education to be? That is — what occupation is he to be prepared for?”

“Why, a gentleman,” returned Mr. Jaggers, with a dry, frowning sort of smile, “no more, no less. It is the explicit instructions of his benefactor that he is not to work, or put himself to any trade. I should have advised differently, but my advice was not asked, so that is how it stands. Mr. Pip is to be a gentleman, and therefore is to be educated accordingly. Is that still agreeable to you?”

“Oh! most assuredly.”

“Very well. That leaves only the question of who is to meet him upon his arrival in London. I had thought to make a communication through you to your son, but as he is here with us now, I will address him directly. Mr. Pocket, Junior—” he threw his finger now in Herbert’s direction, and all at once, Herbert was, ludicrously, seized by the thought that it was all up for him, that whatever he’d done had been found out, and he was to be shipped off to Botany Bay forthwith — “Am I correct in understanding that you are at present living in chambers in London?”

“Y-yes, sir; quite correct.”

“At Barnard’s Inn?”

Herbert was not at all sure how Mr. Jaggers could have come by this information, and not at all sure he wished to know. Instead he replied, simply, “Yes, sir.”

“Then would you be willing to accommodate Mr. Pip upon his arrival in London, until he joins your father’s household here?”

“With pleasure!”

“If Mr. Pip is coming up on Saturday,” put in Mr. Pocket, “he might like to stay the whole weekend at Barnard’s. London can be quite bewildering if one isn’t used to it: it would give him a chance to find his feet, and I’m sure Herbert would be pleased to show him some of the sights. He could then come here on Monday.”

“Is that agreeable to you?” Mr. Jaggers asked Herbert, watching him closely from beneath his brows.

Herbert scarcely needed to think twice. There was a great deal to like about the metropolis, but there was no denying that it could be rather a lonely and expensive place, if you were in it by yourself, and if you were still looking about you. He should certainly enjoy having another young fellow to talk to, and it would improve the gloomy atmosphere of Barnard’s immensely.

“Perfectly agreeable!” he said.

“Then it’s settled,” said Mr. Jaggers. “I will arrange for a bed and other furniture to be hired in, and you can expect to see my clerk during the week. If there is any further communication you wish to make to me, you may make it through him. Does that suit you?”

“Of course, sir.”

Mr. Jaggers nodded, in a close, deliberating way, brows knitted, as if taking stock of all they had discussed so far; then he bit the side of his forefinger and said, “Now, before any final arrangements are made tonight, there is, I think, one more thing I ought to tell you both. Mr. Pip’s expectations are encumbered with certain conditions, which he is required to accept and observe before coming into his inheritance. The nature of these conditions need not concern you, save one. It is stipulated that the identity of his benefactor is to remain a secret, known only to that person and myself, until such time as that person discloses it. Until that time, Mr. Pip is absolutely prohibited from inquiring into the identity of this individual, or from expressing any opinion on that head; and it seems to me that he would be well served if those around him were to observe the same. Knowing this, now, are you both still willing to enter upon the arrangements already discussed, and to observe the prohibition I have already mentioned?”

This was a very extraordinary development, and Herbert received it with the utmost amazement. His father, too, looked perfectly thunderstruck; but he shook himself and replied, “I am,” and Herbert likewise replied, “I am.”

Mr. Jaggers gave another nod. “You will observe that I express no opinion as to the merits, or otherwise, of this condition, or on any part of the enterprise we have discussed. I am engaged merely as the professional and confidential agent of my employer. I am paid to carry out my instructions, and I do so. That’s enough. Now,” he said, throwing his finger at each of them in turn, “understand that, both of you.”

He waited for them to assert that they both understood. After that, there were only the details of payment to be settled, and when this was concluded, Mr. Jaggers shook hands with both of them, bade them good-night, and took his leave, leaving a stunned silence and a strong smell of scented soap in his wake. They heard him go, heard the opening and closing of the front door that signalled his departure; but even so, it was some time before either Herbert or his father dared breathe out.

“Well!” said Herbert at last.

“Well!” agreed his father.

“What a very singular thing!”

“Indeed,” said his father. “Very singular.”

He spoke in an odd, distracted way, which at first Herbert took to be no more than the lingering effect of Mr. Jaggers’ presence. Indeed, he felt quite dazed himself, as if he had been roughly picked up and shaken until his teeth rattled! But when he looked again, he saw the resignation — the sadness, even — in his father’s looks, and thought he knew what was on his mind.

The Pockets, being the barer and more twig-like branch of old Mr. Havisham’s family tree, had long been accustomed to waiting on the goodwill of their more evergreen relations. The one exception to this was his father. He never looked for anything for himself, but as his means had never been spectacular, he might not have been averse to seeing any of his children provided for. Herbert could remember, even now, how anxiously pleased his father had seemed, that day Aunt Georgiana had shown up with the news that Miss Havisham wished to see the young Herbert at Satis House. Certainly, it could only have relieved his mind if Miss Havisham had taken a liking to Herbert, and consented to patronise him.

More to the purpose, however, was the question of relations between Miss Havisham and his father. It was a rare thing for Mr. Pocket to talk about his unhappy history with his cousin. He had volunteered odd bits and pieces over the years, but generally he made the most strenuous efforts to avoid the subject altogether. From this avoidance, Herbert gathered that the subject was painful to him, from which he further surmised that before their break, his father and Miss Havisham must have been close. It had never been like his father to bear anyone a grudge, and Herbert rather thought that he must have entertained the hope of their being reconciled one day. Even more than providing for Herbert, he rather thought his father should have been far happier if a renewed connexion, through him, could have caused them to be friends again. For his own part, Herbert had borne this old disappointment with equanimity — even relief (for he secretly fancied that any favour to come from Satis House must be as murky and blighted as the old house itself); but for his father’s sake he was sorry. And now, this business with Mr. Pip seemed as good a declaration as any that Miss Havisham had not the least intention of extending either patronage or friendship to her Pocket relations.

For there was no doubt in Herbert’s mind that Miss Havisham must be the anonymous benefactor of this Mr. Pip. Here was Miss Havisham’s man of business just returned from Miss Havisham’s part of the country, calling on Miss Havisham’s cousin to involve him in the trust he was undertaking. Those facts alone seemed definitive. And, certainly, raising a blacksmith’s boy out of obscurity and settling an inheritance on him seemed exactly the sort of scheme precisely calculated to vex Aunt Sarah and company beyond endurance. He could almost hear Aunt Camilla’s sobs and outbursts of wounded familial feeling now!

The one thing that nagged at him, away at the back of his mind, was this pretence of secrecy. To the best of his knowledge, Miss Havisham had never made any secret of her contempt for her relations, so why insist on this anonymity now? Some form of insult added to injury? He simply couldn’t fathom it: it seemed excessively eccentric. But then, there was no denying that Miss Havisham was an excessively eccentric personage, so perhaps that was enough to account for it. 

He looked at his father, wanting to say something encouraging, though it was hard to think what he _could_ say without breaking the prohibition. At last he settled on: “It was very obliging of Mr. Jaggers to propose you for Mr. Pip’s tutor.”

“Yes, well, he knows me of old, I suppose,” said Mr. Pocket, with his helpless smile.

Herbert wondered, fleetingly, if it had been Mr. Jaggers’ own idea, or if Miss Havisham had put him up to it. That gave him a rather alarming thought.

“I suppose,” he said, picking his words with care, “there is no possibility that this is all just — just a whim? That is to say, you will certainly be employed? It will not all fall through at the last minute?”

“I shouldn’t think so,” said Mr. Pocket, frowning as he considered. “No, I don’t believe so. No, it seems to me that the thing is settled and done, or Mr. Jaggers would not be in it. At all events, I shall be quite happy to welcome Mr. Pip. You don’t object to accommodating him, at all, do you, Herbert?” he asked, looking anxious. “Only I know it can be hard to contradict Mr. Jaggers.”

“Oh, bless me, no!” Herbert rushed to assure him. “I’ve no objection at all! In fact, I confess I’m quite looking forward to it!”

It was a queer sort of business altogether, but that was certainly no fault of Mr. Pip’s. Herbert very much doubted that he had any influence in how Miss Havisham decided to spend her money; and it seemed to him boorish in the extreme to begrudge another young fellow his good fortune just because it had not come his own way. Besides, he was looking about him now, so it could only be a matter of time before he found his opening and realised his own capital.

Not that the rest of the family were likely to see it that way, however. They were forever jockeying with each other over Miss Havisham’s favour, and they bitterly resented anyone who might cut them out. They hated Estella as a fixed and permanent usurper, and they still spoke of the second Mrs. Havisham and her son with the greatest venom — though that lady was long dead, and nothing had been seen or heard of the son for a good five-and-twenty years. Lord only knew what they would make of Mr. Pip! As for Mr. Pip himself, mightn’t he find it embarrassing to be suddenly billeted upon the relatives whom he had superseded? For these reasons alone, it seemed imperative that Herbert and his father, at least, offer him their warmest friendship, and resolve to put him at his ease.

Inevitably, he found himself wondering what Mr. Pip would be like (indeed, had been wondering it from the moment he had agreed to meet him). Bold or retiring? Proud in his new fortune, or uncertain? A sportsman, or one who preferred to sit by the fire with a book or two?

His thoughts turned, too (as they so often did, whenever the subject of Miss Havisham and Satis House arose), to the boy he had once met prowling about the grounds of the old house. Herbert was generally willing to befriend anyone he met, but he had never conceived such an instant liking for anyone as he had for that boy. Even now, it made him smile to recall how gamely the boy had accepted his challenge, how frank and honest he had seemed. His aunts had brought him back to Satis House once or twice after that occasion, until Miss Havisham was quite sure she couldn’t like him, and each time he had gone into the overgrown garden, hoping he might meet the prowling boy again. But he never had, and now, whenever he chanced to recall him, he thought it the greatest pity that he hadn’t thought to ask his name, and wondered what had become of him. Still, he was now to meet another young fellow from that place, and he could think of no reason why he shouldn’t like this one just as much.

-

The first thing to do, of course, was to make Mr. Pip’s imminent arrival known to the rest of the household. This they did that same evening. Approaching Mrs. Pocket was a process that required some delicacy, for she made no secret of the fact that she considered her husband’s calling a sore blow to her notions of the family’s dignity. As luck would have it, they found her happily ensconced behind her book of titles, having directed Flopson to take the baby and rest of the younger children upstairs to lie down; and when Mr. Pocket succeeded in diverting her attention long enough to broach the subject, she bravely condescended to give her blessing to the enterprise.

“What my poor grandpapa should have thought, of course, I’m sure I can’t imagine,” said she, with a sigh. “But if he is as amiable as dear Mr. Drummle, I’m sure I shall be very happy to receive him into our home.”

Dear Mr. Drummle, for his part, received the news with a surly resignation, as if the whole enterprise were some ordeal contrived solely to test his powers of endurance. Startop, meanwhile, greeted the prospect of having someone else to talk to with great cheerfulness.

There were more material preparations to make, of course, and Mr. Pocket took charge of those at Hammersmith, while Herbert saw to those at Barnard’s Inn. He began as soon as he returned to his own chambers on Monday evening.

The first thing that seemed requisite was to make space for the hired furniture that Mr. Jaggers had prepared him to expect. He had one room which he thought would answer the purpose, but first it must be emptied of all the odd clutter that had accumulated since he had first moved in. To that end, he was up long into the night, up to his elbows in chipped cups, worn-out rugs, odd stubs of candles, broken fire-irons, and certain artefacts of even greater antiquity, which had been there before him, and which now quite confounded confident identification. There was a dusty armchair with one leg broken, and this he moved (after much heroic exertion) into the sitting-room, propping it up on a stack of books. He sorted through the litter, hauled certain things through to his own bedroom, disposed of everything that was beyond saving, and annoyed a great many spiders, who found themselves summarily evicted from the corners in which they had been long-established. At the end of the all, he stood in the middle of the cleared room, besmeared and begrimed, and observed his handiwork with a feeling of great professional accomplishment.

The bed itself arrived sharp the very next morning, just as he was sitting down to breakfast. Within seconds of answering the door, he found himself flung flat against the wall, toast in hand, as a gang of men jostled, wrestled, and frankly bullied Mr. Pip’s bed through the narrow limits of his front door and into the room indicated. It was a feat marvellous to behold, and no less marvellous to reflect upon afterwards as he walked to the counting-house. How on earth had they got it up to the top landing without the stairs collapsing into matchwood beneath its weight? As for how they got it to fit into that little room, well, he could only conclude that the usual laws of natural science applied far more flexibly in that particular space.

Upon returning home that evening, he scarcely had time to get out of his coat, before there came another smart knock at his door, and he opened it to find a curious wooden-looking individual on the landing. At first, Herbert thought he must be something in the undertaking line, for although there was not a hint of crape about him, his person was hung all about with a most fantastic array of mourning jewellery.

“Mr. Pocket, Junior, if I’m not mistaken?” said the wooden-looking individual, removing his hat.

“The very same!” said Herbert. “How do you do, Mr. —?”

“My name is Wemmick, sir,” supplied his visitor. “I’m a clerk at Mr. Jaggers’ office. He told me he had instructed you to expect me.”

“Oh! yes; indeed he did.”

“I just stopped by to make sure that the bed for Mr. Pip had all come in order this morning.”

“All present and correct,” said Herbert, with a gesture towards the room, though the door was shut.

Hearing this, Mr. Wemmick gave a nod of satisfaction, and his wide mouth stretched in what might have been a smile. “My principal has it in his instructions that Mr. Pip should be provided with all the articles that a young gentleman of his outlook ought to expect, for his maintenance and comfort. Can you think of anything he might still be in need of?”

Herbert considered, and listed a few necessaries, which suggestions Mr. Wemmick took down in a tattered little pocket-book, before tucking it back inside his coat — all with a briskness that made the mourning rings on his watch-chain jingle. “Prime,” he said. “I’ll see that they’re brought in on time. Mr. Jaggers also sends word that if you feel you need to fetch anything in yourself on Mr. Pip’s account, be sure it’s charged to him.” 

“Oh—” Herbert hesitated. This felt like something of a liberty, charging another fellow for purchases you had presumed to make on his behalf.

Apprehending his discomfort, Mr. Wemmick said, “Money’s no object, if that’s what’s worrying you. There’s plenty of it set by, I understand.”

So Herbert assented (if only because to do otherwise seemed likely to bring the full weight of Mr. Jaggers’ disapprobation down on his head), and Mr. Wemmick concluded: “Well, if that’s all for now, I’ll be on my way. I’ll drop by now and again during the week, just to make sure it’s all coming on. Good day to you, Mr. Pocket!”

So saying, he shook Herbert’s hand, returned his hat to the back of his head, and was gone. It had all been quite quick and to the purpose, but all these summary arrangements were beginning to make Herbert feel quite bewildered, and it was very early indeed when he retired to bed that night.

-

Sure enough, as the week went on, furniture and other articles began to find their way to Herbert’s rooms. Sometimes they came in the morning or evening, when he was there to receive them; other times he would return from work to find packages addressed to Mr. Pip, care of Mr. Pocket, Junior, left outside his door. He wondered that no one should have made off with them in his absence; then he reflected that it must be a very desperate burglar indeed who would climb all the way up to his landing, to try the doubtful wealth of the tenants of Barnard’s.

As these sundries arrived, so, by-and-bye, Mr. Pip’s room began to look something like a proper bedroom, and the sitting-room, besides, acquired a new table with fresh white cloth and proper dinner service (these all having been hired from the coffee-house by Mr. Wemmick). As the rooms began to take shape, so the prospect of Mr. Pip’s arrival assumed a more definite reality, and Herbert found himself looking forward to Saturday with real enthusiasm.

He had been given no indication as to what time he ought to expect his guest; and so, after leaving the counting-house on Friday evening, he made a detour to the Cross Keys in Cheapside, to inquire at the coach-office as to the Saturday timetable for the Rochester Commodore. The first coach to leave the Blue Boar inn was at seven o’clock in the morning, due to arrive in London in the early afternoon, followed by a second at midday, which would come in around five. Herbert puzzled over this for a few minutes, before deciding that once Mr. Pip had breakfasted and completed his own preparations for the journey, he was most likely to come by the midday coach. That done, Herbert returned home, and when he retired that night, it was with a buoyant, Night Before Christmas sense of anticipation.

The auspicious day dawned bright and warm, promising to become very hot by the afternoon, with hardly a breath of wind to stir the enveloping Barnard’s dust. Herbert rose early, but found himself pacing the rooms in a state of agitation, suddenly fearful that he had forgotten some vital preparation, making final inspections of everything, and even more final inspections after those. The brightness of the day had the regrettable effect of throwing the essential mustiness of Barnard’s into sharp relief, foisting the dust and dirt even more forcefully upon one’s attention. As Herbert drank his coffee, peering through the grimy sitting-room window, he could not help but wonder what Mr. Pip, coming from the clean air and fresh green of the countryside, would make of the soot and smoke of the metropolis.

It was then that the idea came to him. Mr. Pip was surely not accustomed to the chop-house mode of London living, and was surely more used to getting his produce fresh. In a perfect stroke of inspiration that quite dazzled him with its genius, it came to Herbert that some fresh fruit would be just the thing to set off the hired table with its good white cloth, and make him feel more at home. 

Animated by the brilliance of this thought, he resolved to waste to time, but to go out to Covent Garden directly. In a matter of mere seconds he had finished his coffee and fetched his hand; but he got just as far as the landing before it occurred to him that Mr. Wemmick or someone else might chance to come by on a last errand. So, turning on his heel, he made his way back inside, snatched up the first spare corner of paper that came to hand, and scrawled a quick missive - _“Return Shortly”_ \- which he pinned to the letter-box before making his departure in earnest.

It being Saturday, Covent Garden Market was already teeming as far as the Strand, and he spent a happy hour or two weaving through the crowds and the riot of costermongers’ and flower-sellers’ stalls; dodging mountains of turnips and high-heaped baskets of potatoes; examining bunches of rhubarb, grapes, and carnations alike with equal absorption. So bright and varied were the colours that burst upon his view, so fragrant and heady the aromas that mingled in the air about him, that his head was quite turned; and before he quite knew where he was, he had two paper bags of fruit under each arm, and a pottle of fresh strawberries in his hand; and a sense of profound accomplishment put a spring in his step as he started for home at last.

Upon returning to Barnard’s Inn, however, he was thrown all into confusion by the porter, who hailed him as he was crossing the square:

“Oh! Mr. Herbert — that young gen’m’n as you was expecting — he’s arrived.”

“Mr Pip?” He stopped dead. “Mr. Pip is here already?”

“’Deed, sir. Went up not half an hour ago. Mr. Wemmick brought him round.”

“Lord!” He must have come by the morning coach, after all! 

Hurriedly thanking the porter for the intelligence, Herbert crossed the square at a run and fairly flew up the stairs, taking them two or three at a time, so that he was quite winded by the time he reached the top landing. Sure enough, there was a figure outside his door, peering out into the square through the window: Mr. Pip, to judge by the fact that he had traced that name several times in the grime upon the pane. He must have been waiting here some time indeed. So much for warm welcomes and first impressions!

Hearing Herbert’s tread upon the stairs, the figure turned. He was, Herbert judged in that first quick glance, of an age with himself, tall and strongly built, with a pleasant, curious face. He was dressed in a new suit of provincial tailoring, so new that every line and crease might have been chiselled out; and his collar had been so mercilessly starched that one incautious movement might take off his earlobes. In contrast, he held a battered little portmanteau in one hand, which he clutched as if to a lifeline. There was something about him, either in his face or in his manner, that struck Herbert as familiar, but the impression was so fleeting, and his embarrassment so immediate, that he did not dwell upon it.

Catching his breath and composing himself in one moment, he said, “Mr. Pip?”

Happily, Mr. Pip looked rather more relieved to see him than angry, and replied, “Mr. Pocket?”

“Dear me!” cried Herbert, unable to contain himself. “I am extremely sorry; but I knew there was a coach from your part of the country at midday, and I thought you would come by that one. The fact is, I have been out on your account — not that that is any excuse — for I thought, coming from the country, you might like a little fruit after dinner, and I went to Covent Garden Market to get it good.”

Thinking that Mr. Pip must have had his fill of all the diversions the landing had to offer, and having no wish to detain him there any longer, he moved to open the door for him; but found that it had chosen this time — of all times! — to be recalcitrant, and refused to budge an inch. 

“Dear me!” he said, wrestling with the doorknob. “This door sticks so!”

In his determination to get the door open, he threw his whole weight against it, bags and pottle and all, which had a most unfortunate effect upon the strawberries, announced by an alarming squelch.

“Please,” said Mr. Pip, holding out his free hand, “do let me take those for you.”

This was most obliging, and Herbert couldn’t help but smile as he gave up the bags to him. Their combined efforts succeeded in manoeuvring both bags and the pottle into the crook of Mr. Pip’s arm, and he held them secure while Herbert continued to do battle with the door. Suddenly, it flew open, with such force that it sent him reeling backwards into Mr. Pip, who staggered back beneath his weight into the door opposite, in so very comical a fashion that they both laughed.

“Pray come in,” said Herbert, with no small amount of relief, and led the way into the sitting-room. Still half-embarrassed at having been caught out, he found himself speaking quite briskly, making apology for the bareness of the place, explaining the arrangements that had been made, and pointing out certain things that had been brought in for him, until — “But dear me, I beg your pardon, you’re holding the fruit all this time. Pray let me take these bags from you. I am quite ashamed.”

It was only then, as he reached out to take back the bags, that he realised Mr. Pip was staring at him, in an attitude of inexpressible amazement; and all at once, it dawned on Herbert that there _was_ something familiar about his new friend: that he had once seen that self-same face, staring down at him with that self-same expression of amazement, while he lay sprawled on his back with a bloody nose in Miss Havisham’s garden.

“Lord bless me,” he cried as he fell back, overcome with surprise and delight all at once, “you’re the prowling boy!”

The same two emotions were evident in Mr. Pip’s face. “And you,” he returned at once, “are the pale young gentleman!”

For a moment more they stared at each other in astonishment, overwhelmed by this unexpected reunion; then, as one, they burst out laughing again.


End file.
